If Wishes Were Horses
by Jamalyn
Summary: No matter how hard we try to imagine otherwise, there's no changing what has already happened. Where does wishful thinking become full blown psychosis and vice versa? Can our psychoses save us from themselves? Maybe if they really love us. ;) Vaguely yaoish Kensuke with hints of Takari and (bleck)Sorato. Warning! Middle-aged Digi-Destined.
1. No Work for Tinkers

Disclaimer: Not mine, not for profit.

A/N: I apologize now for the middle aged Digi-destined. I'm pretty sure that that is a crime against the fandom. Also, an open note to those in charge of fanfiction dot net: Your editing options SUCK ASS! Just sayin'. Presentation matters, you know. :p

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**No Work for Tinkers**

Daisuke studied the man on the couch. Time had not been as kind as one might have hoped. What had been the bright blond hair of his youth had darkened, dull and brassy. He sat slouched, a rumpled suit coat tossed indifferently over the back of the seat, his tie loosened and his top button undone.

In a word, Takeru looked tired. In two words, beat down. Daisuke was worried for his friend.

After a few more moments silence, mostly spent studying his nails, Takeru finally glanced up, his eyes filled with ill-disguised worry as he said, "Hikari's concerned about you, you know." He offered Daisuke a small, pained smile before continuing, "She's been after me all week to stop by here on my way home."

"It's only Wednesday," Daisuke answered, his voice teasing. It seemed to work, judging by Takeru's smirk anyway.

"Yeah, well, this is Hikari's nagging we're taking about," Takeru clarified, tacking on, "You know how she can be." He shrugged, "She thought, well, hoped, you would come Sunday." Takeru paused again before adding softly, "We all did."

So that was what this was about. The impromptu little Digi-destined get-together Tai had called about sometime last week. It's not like he was purposefully snubbing his friends. It was just that something came up.

"God, yes, no, sorry!" Daisuke apologized, running his hand through the back of his wild hair, offering what he hoped was a look a genuinely chagrined contrition, "That was the plan. I mean, we were going to, but something came up."

There was no missing Takeru's involuntary flinch at Daisuke's use of the word "we". Daisuke bit back his growl of annoyance. Twenty three years later and Takeru still had not truly accepted Ken into their group of friends. After everything Ken had done. After everything that they had done together. And still, the mere _referencing_ of Ken made Takeru uncomfortable.

"Yeah, well, truth is you didn't miss much." Takeru admitted, "We were stuck in Tai's apartment after it started raining, the kids were whining and Sora and Yamato seemed to be in the middle of some sort of epic argument." Takeru rolled his eyes at his brother's drama, "I wish they'd just get a divorce already," he told Daisuke, "And that they'd stay divorced this time. They like each other so much more when they aren't married."

Daisuke offered up his best noncommittal smile.

"Speaking of Yamato…" Takeru began slowly, trying to tread carefully, "He was wondering if you had given any more consideration to selling the apartment…" Takeru allowed the suggestion to float out into the room, watching Daisuke closely the entire time, "He says he's serious about being able to get you twice what you paid for it…" Again the room descended into a momentary silence, "Now's the time," Takeru tried again, doing his best to sound enthusiastic, not failing to note the sound of his own discomfort in his voice, "Seller's market, what not…" he waved his hand. Again, there was no response from Daisuke.

"It might do you good, to get away from here for a while," Takeru flinched at the words before they were even fully out of his mouth. "I mean…" He could see that he had hurt his friend.

"Not that you have to, or anything. I mean, you know, you could travel. Maybe go back to America? See Mimi and Wallace?" Crap! He was starting to ramble. Hikari was going to have his head.

Not that this wasn't her fault. Go over and talk to him, she had said, show him that his friends' are still here for him, she said. Most of all, don't upset him, she said. Takeru couldn't help sneaking a quick glance towards the back hall. He couldn't see the room from here, not that he'd want to. Surely it was shut, locked tight. Daisuke couldn't still be using it. Not after…

"I have to leave for work in a minute." It wasn't mean. It wasn't dismissive. It was just to the point. And if he was being honest with himself, Takeru was glad for the reprieve.

"I know, sorry for dropping in unannounced," Takeru apologized, "It's just…"

"Hikari," Daisuke answered for him, a small smile flitting over his lips when Takeru shrugged, "I know. Sorry for not showing Sunday. Next time."

"It's cool," Takeru promised, repeating, "You really didn't miss much. Really." He stood, snatching his suit coat off the back of the couch and muttering, "Sometimes I kinda wished I didn't have to go." Takeru actually made it most of the way to the door before stopping suddenly and turning back towards Daisuke, his finger up in the air as he remembered one last chore, "Oh yeah, Hikari wants you to come to dinner soon." Takeru smiled at his old friend, "Doesn't matter when," he assured him, "Just show up whenever." Takeru bent to wedge his feet into a pair of well-worn Oxfords, before standing and opening the door for himself, "And you'd better come," Takeru smiled as if his insistent tone was intended to be joking, but Daisuke knew better, "If you don't, I'll be the one she blames." Takeru gave a small shrug. "Besides," he added, "The kids miss you." Takeru offered him one last, sad smile, "Hell, we all do."

Takeru waved a quick good bye, which Daisuke returned, and left, pulling the door closed behind himself, steadfastly ignoring the urge to reach back inside, storm the castle, as it were, and drag Daisuke back to his and Hikari's apartment, back to the living, by force, if necessary.

Not that that was even really an option. Takeru's castle storming days had long since passed with the rest of his youth and he had clearly heard the deadbolt snap into place almost as soon as he had finished shutting the door. Besides, some sick, sixth sense told him that even if he went back over to the door in question and knocked, even pounded, his old friend would not answer.

Crap.

Crap. Crap. Crap.

Crap.

Miyako had been right. Daisuke wasn't Daisuke. Takeru walked over to the elevator, pressed the button and when the doors did not immediately open, turned towards the stairwell and started his slow downward march. Daisuke almost seemed like Daisuke. He was actually doing a damned fine impression of Daisuke. But he wasn't Daisuke. Takeru finally reached to bottom floor and pushed through the frosted glass doors and into the lobby, he looked around for a pay phone before remembering that they had started disappearing a few years back as cell phones became ubiquitous.

Oh well, he thought to himself, Hikari would figure out soon enough that he had decided to go out for a drink before heading home. Maybe, if he got lucky, she'd even assume that he'd gone out with Daisuke. That's what he wished he could do. Because then being able to talk about their feelings, trying to be emotionally supportive, all those things Hikari wanted him to be but he was utter bullshit at, wouldn't matter. Because he and Daisuke could go out to some smelly dive and get drunk off their asses until it didn't matter anymore.

Until it didn't matter that Daisuke was stuck all alone in that ridiculously neat apartment even tough Daisuke had never been one for "neat".

Until it didn't matter that the once so happy-go-lucky Daisuke was now only a shell of himself.

Until it didn't matter that fate had to go and take the only one among them who was genuinely kind.

Until it didn't matter that Daisuke had had to be the one to find him lying there, almost as if he was only sleeping.

Until it didn't matter that Ken was dead.

Ken. For the first time all afternoon Takeru allowed himself to think, actually say, if only in his own mind, Ken's name.

Takeru didn't know how much alcohol it would take to wipe that name from his mind, but he knew he was damn well going to try and find out.

Hikari would just have to understand.

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Daisuke listened as his friend's footsteps faded away. Maybe he should have let him stay; put him up for the night. He could easily tell that the man was exhausted, and, if the rumors flying about the digidestined were to be believed, drinking heavily.

Daisuke never would have picked him for the problem. Sure Yamato and Takeru's father was known to enjoy a drink or two or ten on occasion, but then, whose father wasn't? The economy had been shit in the 90s and alcohol: an easy remedy. But Takeru had always seemed so disgusted with the habit that destroyed his own parent's marriage that Daisuke had never really considered that he might like to drink himself. And yet…

There was a soft sound from the room at back of the hall and when Daisuke went to investigate, he saw a bleary eyed Ken, feet bare, inky black hair still rumpled from sleep. Ken stretched, arms held high above his head, spine curved in pleasure, his entire body almost seeming to shake with the effort of holding the pose before releasing with a pleased sigh.

"Was someone here?" Ken asked, his voice still rough with sleep, "I thought I heard voices."

Daisuke smiled at his lover, "Just Takeru," he explained, "He said Hikari was worried when we didn't go to the digidestined party last weekend."

Ken flinched, "That was last Saturday, wasn't it," he remembered.

"Sunday," Daisuke corrected with a smile. For a super genius, Ken had never been great about dates or times, "Doesn't matter anyway," he promised before apologizing, "I hope we didn't wake you."

Ken shook his head, feet softly padding down the carpeted hall as he walked over a placed a cool kiss against Daisuke's cheek, "Nope, " Ken explained, "I was already awake," Ken admitted, a slow, mischievous smile spreading across his face, "I was only being lazy." He reached down to give Daisuke's hand a squeeze before sliding past him and walking in the direction of the kitchen.

"Do you know what you want for dinner?" Ken asked.

Daisuke smiled. So domestic. He never would have pegged the once self-styled leader of the Digital World as so naturally domestic. But then, Ken had always been full of surprises.

He followed the Digital Kaiser into the kitchen, unable to take his eyes of him even as he performed the most mundane of tasks. To Daisuke, just watching Ken survey the contents of their fridge was awe-inspiring, "I've got to be leaving for work soon," Daisuke reminded Ken, taking an odd amount of pleasure in his disappointed little sigh before changing the subject, "Is your headache gone?"

Ken's hand rose to his temple almost as if he couldn't remember what headache Daisuke might be asking about, but then he smiled, hand dropping back down to his side, "Yeah," Ken agreed, "All gone. I told you it was just stress. All I needed was a little sleep."

Still, Daisuke wasn't quite satisfied. He stepped forward, wrapping his arms around Ken's lanky form and drawing him in close, his nose nestled in at the little cleft where the base of Ken's neck met his shoulder and where the essence of what Ken was, what Ken meant to him seemed to be the strongest.

"All the same," Daisuke muttered into Ken's hair, "I wish you'd just go see a doctor." He felt more than heard Ken's light chuckle of bemusement.

"If wishes were horses…" Ken began.

"I know, I know," Daisuke answered, "Beggars would ride."

"If turnips were swords," Ken was smiling.

"I'd wear one by my side." Daisuke rolled his eyes.

"If ifs and ands were pots and pans," Ken's voice rose expectantly even as he slipped easily from Daisuke's grasp and grabbing a wok from where it hung above the stove, turned on the heat.

Daisuke sighed, knowing he was beaten.

"There would be no work for tinkers."

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Please review!

A/N: I would like to go on record as saying that I'm not sure what is going on with this story. This is the first time in more than 10 or 15 years that I've "published" a story that wasn't fully mapped out and mostly already written. But this little plot bunny kept nibbling and nibbling and nibbling until I felt I needed to get it down on paper. I don't really feel like I'm the one writing this fic, so I don't really know when it will be written on some more. Still, I plan on posting it as it comes. :)

Jamalynrascher at yahoo dot com


	2. Beggars Would Ride

A/N: I just want to warn you, if you are a big Hikari fan, you may not care for this depiction of her character. I am not a big Hikari fan. I am not a Hikari fan (period) and I think it shows. She always seemed a little too "perfect" to me and I found that to be _untrustworthy_. Add to that that I've always sensed a meanness behind her sweet façade and you get what you see below…

Disclaimer: These characters are based (loosely) on someone else's. But you know what? They're still kind of mine.

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**Chapter 2: Beggars Would Ride**

Hikari checked the baby again. He was still sleeping soundly in the stroller despite the surrounding din of a busy outdoor café in the middle of its lunch rush. She had promised the waitress that her companion would arrive and that they would order momentarily more than forty five minutes previous and the woman was beginning to give her openly hostile glares. Not that Hikari was going to let that bother her. If the woman wanted to free the table so badly, she could damn well work up the courage to walk over and ask her to leave.

Still Hikari could not help glancing down the street for what felt like the one hundredth time, hoping to see Miyako. Hikari wasn't even the one who had wanted to meet here for lunch. No, that had been the decision of her, now late, companion. Truth was, between the three kids and Takeru, Hikari didn't really have the money to waste on overpriced western food at ridiculously themed, unexplainably popular "cafes".

But Hikari could also admit, if only to herself, that she would rather die than admit as much to Miyako. Hell, she'd go back to work teaching kindergarten before that happened, never you mind that there were days she couldn't hardly stand her own kids, much less anyone else's. Why she had ever thought that she wanted to be a glorified nanny, she couldn't even remember.

Finally she caught sight of Miyako, click, click, clicking down the sidewalk in almost whorishly tall heels, immaculately pressed suit jacket, a designer hand bag held just so at her hip and Hikari had to remind herself that, all other things being equal, she did not hate the other woman.

"Oh my god!" Miyako exclaimed, even as she slid into the seat opposite of Hikari and motioned the waitress over, "I am soooooooo sorry! We had a big client show up right as I was about to walk out the door and I couldn't escape."

Hikari offered what she hoped was a serene smile of acceptance at the other woman's profuse apology.

"I tried to call you at the apartment, but you must have already left," Miyako continued, "And your cell phone isn't connecting."

"What?" Hikari was proud of the way her voice seemed to almost drip genuine concern, "It must have run out of charge!" Truth was she had canceled cell service on her and Takeru's phones two months previous so as to have the money to pay the NHK subscription fee. Takeru had just wanted to toss the bill, but Hikari wasn't going to have her neighbors seeing a bill collector, even one of the powerless NHK collectors, banging on her front door. Not while there was still another option, anyway. "It doesn't matter," she lied, "We weren't waiting very long." Thankfully, the waitress chose that moment to step over and take their order.

"So…" Miyako began carefully once the impatient waitress had left with their order, "You said Takeru was going over there…" the words trailed off suggestively, hinting at the unspoken request for gossip, "Has he?"

Hikari frowned, unable to keep the memory of a drunken Takeru, stumbling through the apartment door in the wee hours of the morning last Wednesday, or, she supposed by then, Thursday, from running though her head. "Yes," she answered primly, only the barest hint of her displeasure with the memory flitting across her face.

"And?" Miyako prodded when Hikari didn't hurry to continue.

"And." Hikari answered, her thoughts interrupted by a young man in a French apron setting their drinks before them. She thanked him, as did Miyako before he was quickly absorbed back into the ebb and flow of the lunchtime crowd. "And," she began again, pausing to take a sip of her iced water, "He says you were right. There was definitely something wrong."

Miyako nodded, though if it was in agreement with her own assessment or Takeru's, Hikari could not be sure. "I said as much last Sunday, didn't I," Miyako reminded Hikari. Hikari nodded. "Did Takeru notice anything in particular when he went," Miyako asked.

Hikari almost snorted her water. As if Takeru had remembered much of anything after spending the evening killing off as many of his remaining brain cells has he could. Still, "He didn't say anything in particular…" Hikari hedged, "He just mentioned that something felt _off_."

"Hmmm," the waitress chose that moment to bring out their order, setting the plates on the table with what Hikari felt was a good deal more force than the task required. She gave the woman her most impassive stare, all but daring her to actually open her mouth and make a complaint. But she did not. And it was just as well, Hikari thought. If she was finally going to crack and go bat-shit crazy on someone, she'd at least like it to be her own husband. He had more than earned it. Hikari fought down a sigh.

"Well," Miyako picked up her sandwich, pulling the toothpick from the center and setting it on the side of her plate, "What are we going to do?" Miyako asked.

And that was when it hit Hikari, really hit her, that somehow, this had become her problem, too. And she wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. Hikari wanted to push back from this overpriced, glorified turkey sandwich she was being asked to call a lunch. She wanted to push back from friendships that should have long since run their course and disappeared down memory lane. She wanted to push back from her asshole of a husband and his refusal to ever put anyone else's needs before his own. She even wanted to push back against the very children she loved more than life itself.

And in that very same instance, she knew that she couldn't. Not wouldn't.

Couldn't.

And that terrified her. They were all, every last one of them, killing her, sucking her dry, and damned if she could do a thing about it.

So she did the one thing she could do. She smiled. She smiled the secretive little smile she had perfected in a childhood spent wondering if today would be the day that she lost her brother, the only person in the world who had ever tried to put her needs before their own. Hikari did this in the hopes that the simple gesture might help hide the terror she was certain was showing in her eyes, even as she reached a hand over to soothe the unperturbed sleep of her youngest, still safe in his stroller next to the table.

"I don't know," Hikari finally answered, hoping Miyako wouldn't be able to hear the tremble of utter exhaustion running through the undercurrents of her voice, "I wish I did," she admitted, "But I don't."

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Please review!

jamalynrascher at yahoo dot com


	3. If Turnips Were Swords

A/N: I have always had a soft spot in my heart for Daisuke and Miyako. Not as lovers, but as friends. The kind of friends that give each other untold amounts of shit, but also the kind of friends who would ultimately do anything for the other (especially if it meant a lifetime's worth of blackmail material).

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Disclaimer: Come at me Bandai. Come at me.

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Chapter 3: If Turnips Were Swords

Daisuke hated when these moods came over him. It wasn't that he couldn't think of things he _could_ be doing. On the contrary, there was a hamper full of clothes that he _could_ be putting into the laundry. There was also the not too distant supper that he _could_ be shopping for or Ken's plants that _could_ do with watering or the living room carpet that _could_ stand to be vacuumed. Failing anything productive, Daisuke _could _at least be out enjoying the beautiful weather.

But Daisuke wasn't doing any of these things, and, if he was being honest with himself, the chances that he would be any time soon were slim at best. Instead, Daisuke had spent the better part of his day off moping about the apartment, rising late from bed before slouching into the guestroom to pointlessly wander about the internet then finally coming to rest on the couch, where he remained even now, too lazy to bother with even getting up to turn on the television.

It wasn't that he was sad or depressed, or even just bored. Not hardly. No, if Daisuke had to pick a word, the closest he could even think to come was tired, though that didn't really seem to do his mood justice. He stood slowly, stretching as he rose and began to wander aimlessly about the apartment for what felt like the umpteenth time that day, grinding his teeth when the flash of bright red and gold caught his eye yet again. It was a pile of New Year's cards, almost hidden, under a stack of old mail. Daisuke wasn't sure what it was about the cards that bothered him so much. Granted, it was well past New Year's at this point, and it would hardly make any sense to still be working on New Year's cards, but then, Daisuke had never been a stickler for the details. Why the hell shouldn't there be New Year's cards still sitting on his table?

But then it struck him. Because Ken _was_ a detail man and it was Ken who had purchased the cards months ago. Ken, who insisted on stopping by the bank to get a little cash for the kids. It was Ken who had sat down at this very table to write out New Year's cards so many months ago, and Ken who, apparently, never bothered to finish. And something about that did not sit right with Daisuke. No matter how many times he told himself to ignore it, his mind just kept coming back around to the damned cards left lying in the middle of the table and why that couldn't possibly be right.

Enough! He had had enough! Daisuke snatched the cards from the tabletop with a growl. If Ken wanted to send out New Year's cards, he would just have to wait until they started selling them again next fall. These were going in the trash. ASAP.

And so they would have, if someone hadn't started beating on his front door with determined insistence.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," Daisuke complained, swinging the door wide, taking in the would-be interloper of his thoughts with vague, if mostly false, annoyance. "Miyako," he intoned.

"Daisuke," she answered back with her own snark, shooting Daisuke a glare of distaste even as she pushed her way inside without invitation. She offered the entryway only the most perfunctory of looks before announcing, "I hate this apartment."

Daisuke shook his head. Why did everyone have to rag on this place? He happened to like it, thank you very much. Never mind, Daisuke was fairly sure what Miyako was hinting at and felt it was better to just go ahead and nip the conversation in the bud. "I'm not selling it," he said it with as firm a tone as he could muster.

Miyako glanced back at him over her shoulder, her face a study of vague indifference. "I never said you should," she answered, shrugging her shoulders even as she kicked off her heels. "If you like your crap apartment in the crap part of town, who am I to say you should get rid of it? Who do you think I am, Yamato?" she asked, walking into his living room as if she owned the place before collapsing on the couch in a decidedly unladylike pose. "New Year's cards?" she asked, noting the bright red paper still clinched in his fist, "Really, Daisuke, in April?" The judgmental, "Hmmmmm?" was unspoken, but not unheard.

"Love you too, Miyako," Daisuke answered, glancing at the now ruined cards in question before tossing them on the coffee table with a grunt.

"I know you do," Miyako deadpanned before breaking character with a giggle and a wink.

"Ugh!" she groaned a moment later, stretching out so that she now took up the entirety of the couch, leaving Daisuke nowhere to sit but on the ottoman, "God, I'm so glad you were home. I needed to see a friendly face. You'll never guess who I had lunch with yesterday."

"Who?" Daisuke asked, ignoring Miyako's disgruntled look at his refusal to play along. Not that she paused for long.

"The Ice Queen." She complained. Daisuke just rolled his eyes.

"If you don't like Hikari, don't see her," he shrugged, "You're both adults. It's not like you _have _to hang out with anyone you don't want to anymore."

"Oh Daisuke, Daisuke, Daisuke," Miyako clucked, "You really don't get girls, do you?" she sighed, "And here I'd always thought the gay thing was just some act you put on to keep me from getting Ken."

Daisuke rolled his eyes again. He tended to do that a lot around Miyako.

"Whatever, bitch," Miyako grumbled, "She called me. It's like, when I don't see her, I kind of forget that I don't like her. But then I do see her and it's like, Boom! I hate this woman."

"So write yourself a note," Daisuke suggested, unimpressed by Miyako's complaining, "Might help you remember."

"Whatever," Miyako was annoyed. "I should have known you wouldn't take my side. I forgot she was your first loooooove." This time, it was Miyako who rolled her eyes. "And, you know, maybe I was a _little_ late." Miyako paused, "Okay, maybe I was waaaay late." Daisuke had a pretty good idea which was closer to the truth. "But little Ms. Perfect with her little perfect family and her little perfect life really doesn't have to be such a little perfect bitch about it. Every. Fucking. Time."

"I don't know, Miya," Daisuke hedged, bracing for the smack he was certain he would get, "I'm sure Hikari wasn't trying to be annoying."

But, strangely, Miyako let that pass. Perhaps she was too comfortable, stretched out as she was, on his couch. Regardless, instead of getting angry, her mood seemed to mellow, even sadden.

"It's just not fair, you know?" she asked Daisuke. "It's like, she got everything I wanted, and I don't even think she likes it." Miyako frowned, "The kids, the husband, the whole shebang." Miyako sat up suddenly, elbows on knees even as she glowered at Daisuke. "I was going to have five kids," she told him, "Five! And they were going to be beautiful like me and smart like Ken and we were going to be happy. Perfectly happy." Miyako smiled softly for a moment before throwing herself back across the sofa with a groan, "But then you had to go and seduce him away from me, you little slut," she complained.

"I'm sorry," Daisuke apologized. Miyako shot him her best knowing look.

"No you're not," she groused.

"No," Daisuke couldn't help the little ripple of humor bubbling out from under his words, "I'm not."

"Fucking whore." Miyako cursed before demanding, "Make me something to eat. I'm hungry."

Daisuke smirked. Miyako couldn't be too upset if her thoughts were already turning to her stomach. "I can't," he told her, "I don't have anything to fix."

"Then take me _out_ to eat." Miyako sounded as if she were trying to explain what should have been a very simple concept to a very dull child. Not that Daisuke was bothered. He was used to it by now.

"Why should I take you out to eat?" He asked, "You make twice as much as me. _You_ should take _me_ out to eat."

"Ugh! Whatever!" Miyako complained, "As long as it means I get food, I don't care. Let's go!"

"As you wish, my dear," Daisuke stood, offering Miyako a hand to pull her to her feet and toward the apartment door.

But as he was bending to slip on his shoes, the red cards caught his eye yet again and he couldn't help wondering why Ken had never bothered to finish. Daisuke shrugged his unease away. It didn't really matter anyway, did it? Not right now.

New Year's had long since come and gone and what mattered now was getting Miyako fed and away so that when Ken came home from work later tonight, their apartment would once again be the calm, quite sanctuary he loved. Maybe, if Daisuke got back from going out with Miyako in time, he could clean up a bit.

Ken would love that.

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Please Review!

jamalynrascher at yahoo dot com


	4. Pots and Pans

A/N: Okay, honestly? I forgot I was writing this. I'd blame it on work, etc, but really, I just flat-forgot. But then I remembered. And that's worth something, right? Right. Or so says Dr. Moon. *grins*

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Disclaimer: yada, nada, yada

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**Chapter 4: Pots and Pans**

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"I mean, don't get me wrong," Miyako assured him, "I don't hate my job." She smiled, "I feel like we have an opportunity to really to do _something_, you know?" Daisuke nodded his agreement. "And how many people can say that they'll ever really be given a chance to do something that will genuinely benefit others for years and years to come?" she asked.

"It's like were standing on this precipice," Miyako continued, "And, somehow, for some reason, I've been offered the chance to lead the charge. **Me.**" She shook her head as if she couldn't quite believe it, "And the only thing I can think is that I don't _fucking _want to." Miyako threw her hands up in disbelief.

"People work hard for this kind of chance. People fight for this kind of chance. Someone," Miyako leaned across the table, emphasizing every word with a stab of her finger on the grease smeared top even as her voice dropped low, "Someone has probably _killed_ for this sort of opportunity." She threw herself back against the booth seat, letting out a sigh of exasperation, "And I'm over her contemplating quitting work at a place I love just so I don't have to do it. What kind of bullshit is that?"

Daisuke took a long sip from his straw, contemplating the question. "Well…" he finally answered, "I don't know."

"You don't know," Miyako grumbled, stabbing her chicken piccata a tad more forcefully than customs would dictate. "Well I know," she answered, "I know I should have found some poor schmuck to marry like _Hikari_," Miyako rolled her eyes even as she sing-songed the name, "And started popping out babies every other year or so. Then I wouldn't have to bother with trying to understand why what I want and what I _should _want are two such different fucking things."

This time it was Daisuke's turn to roll his eyes, "I'm sure Hikari's life isn't nearly so perfect," he intoned. "Besides," Daisuke moved quickly to cut Miyako's rebuttal off, "I thought we said we weren't taking about Hikari tonight."

"Yeah, yeah," Miyako groused, "Ice Queen is off limits. I get it."

"Miyako…" Daisuke warned.

"Fine," She answered, scowling at her dinner a second before offering up a heartfelt, albeit too perky, "So what's new with you?"

Daisuke smiled, "Nuthin' much, took a quick trip to Mars, saved the earth from an evil megalomaniac, met the Pope." he answered, "You?"

"Other than winning the lottery last week, oh, and stealing that blond-haired, blue-eyed European prince away from his super-model girlfriend?" Miyako asked, smiling, "Not much." It was an old game.

"But seriously though," Miyako pressed, "What's up with you?"

"I don't know," Daisuke shrugged, "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Miyako answered, "It's like we talk, but we don't _talk_. And I'm not the only one who's noticed. Takeru agrees. Even the Ice Queen. There's something going on with you."

"Have you been taking about me behind my back?" Daisuke asked coyly, a sly grin on his face, "You know how that embarrasses me." Miyako didn't take the bait.

"I'm being serious here," she frowned. "Are you okay?"

Daisuke laughed. "Of course I'm okay. Why wouldn't I be okay?" Miyako's frown only deepened.

"Listen Daisuke," Miyako was murdering that chicken. Daisuke had seen her cut it and cut it and then cut it again, and now she had taken to moving different pieces aimlessly about her plate. Still, despite all the movement, Daisuke had yet to see her actually put any in her mouth. "It's…" Miyako trailed off, "I mean, have you…" she stopped again, "Is…" Miyako's mouth snapped shut a third time before she could figure out how to put words to what she was trying to say.

After a long pause that only resulted in more hurt for her already abused dinner, she finally managed to ask, "Have you spoken with Ken's parents lately? His mother?"

"His mother?" Daisuke wasn't sure what he thought Miyako was trying to ask him, but I knew that that certainly wasn't it. Mrs. Ichijouji was one of those subjects that Daisuke did his best not to think about. It hurt too much.

She had been so happy when Ken had first introduced Daisuke as his friend. She had embraced Daisuke like a second son, opened up her home and her heart. In many ways, Mrs. Ichijouji became the mom his mother never much wanted to be.

But then things slowly began to change. Or rather, she began to worry that Ken was changing. That he was _being_ changed. Oh, her brilliant little boy was still there. What disappeared was the drive, the need to succeed, no matter what the cost. If he was given the choice between cramming all night for a contest or playing soccer in the park with his new friend, Ken choose Daisuke. Every. Single. Time.

Somehow, this ordinary little boy was taking her extraordinary son and dragging him down, turning him against his own potential.

And Mrs. Ichijouji was not subtle with her censure. Daisuke felt, in many ways, as if it was his own mother who had become estranged from him.

The gay thing had never even really played into it. And strangely, Daisuke almost wondered if it would have been easier if it had. _That_ he knew how to deal with. With _that_, at least he had practice_._ If it had been _that_, then maybe he would have been old enough to better know how to protect himself.

But Daisuke had not been so lucky.

That was not to say that Daisuke had had to fight the battle on his own. No, Ken had stood solidly beside him the entire time, much to his mother's chagrin.

Ken, always meek in his own affairs, was stern in the defense of others, and none more so than Daisuke. If he could not demand love for his friend from his mother, he would at least have civility. If not genuine kindness, then cool politeness.

And so that's where things stood even to this day. Daisuke and Mrs. Ichijouji had come to a tacit agreement years ago to avoid each other whenever possible. They certianly didn't _talk._ Daisuke had even taken to finding excuses to be out of his and Ken's apartment on Sunday afternoons rather than risk having to make chilly chitchat with Ken's mother during her weekly phone call.

Of course, none of this was any sort of secret. So when Miyako asked if he had spoken with Ken's mother recently, Daisuke nearly choked.

"Mrs. Ichijouji?" Daisuke begged confirmation. Miyako nodded. "No…" Daisuke admitted, "Why?"

The question seemed to pain Miyako more than it should. She refused to take her eyes off of Daisuke even as she laid her fork across the edge of her plate and pushed the uneaten food away.

"You know why," Miyako insisted, her voice cracking. "Daisuke."

"Miyako?" That was when Daisuke knew he was going to be sick. There had to have been something terribly wrong with his dinner because suddenly his head was pounding and his stomach churning and he felt feverish all over and Daisuke knew, just knew that he was going to be sick.

"Daisuke," Miyako spoke gently. She reached her hand across the table to take his, but he jerked it away at the last second, not wanting her to touch his clammy skin. "Daisuke, please don't do this," she begged, "You're scaring me."

Daisuke pushed his way out from the booth, eyes wild, looking for an exit, "I'm scaring you? Me?" he asked, incredulous, "I don't even know what you're trying to say!" he insisted.

"Yes you do," Miyako insisted, "Admit it or not, you do." She looked as if she might start crying at any moment.

"Stop it!" Daisuke demanded, banging his fist on the table. He ignored the shocked look from the elderly couple in the booth behind them, leaning in to whisper "Why the _fuck _do you keep looking at me like _**that**_?"

"Because, Daisuke," the tears had begun to flow in earnest now, "Because I know that you know, even if you can't admit it," Miyako insisted, "Not even to yourself."

"God-damn it Miyako," Daisuke complained, "Know what?" Miyako shook her head, suddenly unable to look Daisuke in the eye.

"That Ken's 100-day memorial is next weekend."

Daisuke didn't even remember leaving the restaurant.

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A/N: I'm thinking the end draweth nigh. ;) What I can't decide is if it is coming as one longer-than-average chapter or one normal chapter and an, er, chaplet. I guess we shall just have to see. Hahaha!


	5. Ifs and Ands

Disclaimer: Bite me Bandai!

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**Chapter 5: Ifs and Ands**

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Daisuke stood in front of his door, not really sure how he had come to be there. He remembered being at the restaurant with Miyako. He remembered her sickening words. They were making his stomach churn even now. But he couldn't remember how he had gotten home, or even when the sun had decided to set.

Regardless, it was now dark and the streets were alive with people walking home to their families. A neighbor he knew only by sight stepped off the elevator and, with a nod in Daisuke's direction, unlocked the door three down from where Daisuke stood and stepped inside. There was no missing a woman's voice sing-songing her welcome home.

That was it, he had to go inside soon or someone would start to wonder what was wrong. Daisuke did not think he could handle even the mostly kindly of neighborly questions. Not right now.

He could leave. He could turn around and ride the elevator back down to the ground floor, walk out of the building and just keep walking until he had somehow managed to make sense of Miyako's hurtful words, or at least rid himself of their echo, still ringing in his head.

He could go inside; hope that something there would answer his question, would put all this craziness to rest. Daisuke stared at the window next to the door, willing his eyes to somehow overcome the curtain's opaqueness, hoping that he might see into the apartment. The light was on. Someone was already home.

Or he had forgotten to turn it off earlier.

Which was it? Daisuke reached out to turn the knob, the knob on the door he swore that he had locked, and was unable to contain his shudder when the door swung open with ease.

Daisuke stepped inside. There they were, where they always were when he was home, toes turned neatly towards the door, heels together, laces undone: Ken's narrow oxfords.

"Daisuke? Is that you?" Ken's voice was coming from the living room, "You're home late." Daisuke could just see him as he leaned over to kick off his shoes. He was standing by the coffee table, one hand still holding the suit jacket that he must have just taken off, the other holding a crumpled red paper. Crap! The New Year's cards. Daisuke had meant to throw those away before Ken ever saw them. Too late now.

Ken turned towards Daisuke, the card in question raised, even as his only remark was a quirked eyebrow. When Daisuke failed to respond to his unspoken rebuke, Ken grumbled, "I was going to get to them."

Daisuke couldn't hide his smile at the surly tone. "Sure you were," he teased, "It's only May, after all."

Ken shrugged, but there was a twinkle in his eye, "Since when were you such a stickler for details?" he asked before justifying, "I've been busy." Daisuke laughed, taking the suit jacket Ken held in his direction and hanging it in the hall closet where it wouldn't get wrinkled.

"Besides," he heard Ken call from the kitchen, "I didn't see you offering to help finish them." Daisuke heard the distinct ker-chunk of their peddle-operated trashcan in the kitchen where Ken must have tossed the crumpled card.

"I did," Daisuke defended himself when Ken stepped back into the living room. "As I recall, a certain perfectionist said something about my handwriting being so atrocious that nobody'd be able to read them."

Ken laughed, "Me? I said that?" Daisuke nodded, unable to contain his own smile. "Oh well then," Ken finally admitted, "I guess it is my fault. Forgive me?"

"Maybe just this once," Daisuke did his best to sound reluctant, but he wasn't very convincing. That was okay though. Ken was all too well aware of how Daisuke felt about him. There wasn't much point in pretending otherwise.

"So, were you out with your other boyfriend?" Ken asked.

"Kind of," Daisuke confessed, "Miyako came over and insisted I take her out to dinner." Daisuke rolled his eyes, "You know how she can be," he complained.

"So you've eaten?" Ken asked.

"Yeah," Daisuke admitted, "But I can still make something if you're hungry."

Ken shook his head, "No. I'm fine," he told Daisuke, "I'm glad you've eaten actually. We had a vendor show up today with food. Too much food." Ken rolled his eyes. It was no secret that he preferred not to have to interact with the various and sundry vendors that showed up at his company hoping to curry favor. Ken was happiest when they just left him alone and allowed him to work. But that made him the exception rather than the rule and so he invariably ended up having to be sociable or risk hurting someone's feelings. Still, Daisuke didn't mind, since it usually meant Ken would bring him home left over treats.

"Ohhhh?" Daisuke queried, "Any leftovers?"

"As a matter of fact," Ken smiled, "I might have brought you some mousse cake from Hidemi Sugino."

Daisuke's eyes grew large and he felt his mouth begin to water. "Seriously?" he queried.

"Seriously." Ken confirmed, smirking, "But since you've already eaten…"

"I'm not thatfull," Daisuke was quick to assure Ken. He would never, ever be _that_ full.

"Fine," Ken yielded, "It's in the fridge," he promised, "But first," Ken chided, "I haven't got my welcome home."

"Wel—" Daisuke stopped, remembering, "Wait a sec, _you_ were already here when I got home," he complained, "You should tell me welcome home."

"Mmmmm?" that sound of query that only Ken could make, complimented, as always, by that grin that usually made Daisuke regret whatever it was that he had just said.

After all, Daisuke knew that grin, knew it well. And that wasn't the normal soft, sweet, even vaguely submissive Ken smile. It was a Kiser smile and that usually meant only one thing.

Ken quickly closed the distance between them, leaning in to whisper a suggestive, "Welcome home," even as his hand snaked around behind Daisuke and quickly squeezed his butt, making Daisuke yelp.

"So…" Ken queried stepping back again with a wink, "What did Miyako want?"

"Perv," Daisuke complained. "Don't grab my ass and then ask about Miyako."

Ken laughed, settling himself on the couch before patting the space next to him. Daisuke was quick to comply, lying down next to Ken, his knees hooked over the arm of the couch, his head on Ken's thigh. Daisuke sighed as Ken's fingers began tracing circles over his scalp. "Well?" Ken asked after Daisuke, too, had settled.

For the longest second it Daisuke couldn't quite seem to make sense of Ken's question. What had Miyako wanted to talk about? It was like his mind was blank.

But then, it wasn't, and he remembered everything she had said, almost as if he was rewatching their entire conversation on some twisted hidden camera television show. Daisuke felt the sickness began to churn in his stomach once again. He felt like every last drop of blood in his body had somehow managed to rush to his toes and none was left to help his brain sort through the wave after wave of emotions that were suddenly beating him about the head.

Ken must have felt Daisuke's sudden stiffness because his fingers stopped the slow movement through Daisuke's hair and Daisuke felt Ken's thighs shift under him as the taller man leaned over to try and get a good look at Daisuke's face.

"What's wrong?" Ken asked. There was no denying the concern in his voice.

Daisuke covered his face with his hands. How to explain Miyako's words? How to explain how _real_ they sounded when Daisuke had heard them? How to explain how they still rung true even now when Daisuke was here, able to feel and see and even smell Ken? It didn't make any sense.

Finally though, Daisuke managed, if just barely, to choke out a muffled, "Miyako says you're…" there really wasn't any other way to put it, "dead." The apartment immediately lapsed into total, painfully heavy silence.

After several minutes, Daisuke heard Ken take a deep breath. "Wow. Fuck." Ken seemed taken aback, even letting out an uncharacteristic obscenity before asking, "Seriously?"

Daisuke nodded. There weren't really any words he could think to say.

Ken seemed to consider the idea for a long moment, finally asking, "Then why am I still working 65 hours a week?"

The question stunned Daisuke.

"No, really," Ken insisted, "If I can't get a vacation when I'm dead, when can I?"

Daisuke turned his head to look up at Ken who still sat, leaning over him, a gentle smile on his lips.

"Ken?" he questioned.

Ken shook his head, "I'm not dead, Daisuke," Ken promised.

Daisuke considered Ken's statement, comforted by its simplicity, only to have another, almost as terrifying thought strike him.

"Am I dead? Am I dead and trying to make you dead too so that you can be with me?" Daisuke whispered, his eyes wide as he stared up at Ken's face. After only a second though, Ken began to laugh.

"Oh god," Ken shook his head even as his fingers went back to rubbing comforting circles on Daisuke's head, "Just how much did you two have to drink tonight?" he asked.

"None!" Daisuke insisted, pushing himself up so he could meet Ken eye-to-eye, to try and convey just how serious he really was. "Miyako said you were dead!" He kept the silent, "And I believed her," in his head.

"I'm not dead," Ken promised for the second time, "And you're not dead either." Ken insisted before muttering, "But Miyako may be, soon."

Ken took Daisuke's hand, pressing Daisuke's palm against his own chest and asking, "Feel it?" meaning his own heart beat. Daisuke nodded. The beat of Ken's heart was strong and steady against his hand.

Ken reached out again, this time laying his own hand against Daisuke's chest. "There you are," Ken assured him, smiling, "Same as always. I'm alive, you're alive and we're both still here together."

"But—" Daisuke began, but Ken quickly moved to cut him off.

"But nothing." Ken insisted, "I'm alive, you're alive and were both still here together," he repeated, squeezing Daisuke's hand.

Ken patted his own lap, quietly encouraging Daisuke to lie back down.

Daisuke complied, and the fingers of one of Ken's hands immediately went back to gently, almost absent mindedly, threading their way through Daisuke's hair, even as Ken's other hand sought out one of Daisuke's, pulling it close and squeezing it tight.

After a long silence, Daisuke felt, more than heard, Ken sigh. But by that point, Daisuke found that was so sleepy he couldn't even keep his eyes open, never mind, acknowledge Ken's barely whispered, "I'm here Daisuke. Always. Just squeeze my hand, and you'll know I'm right here."

"Please, just squeeze my hand."

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	6. Epilogue: If Wishes Were Horses

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. This is a fictional story about fictional representations of fictional people. None of the events are true. No profit was made from this work. Excepting that of my ego.

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A/N: This one's for you, acktacky. I hope you find it sufficiently devastating. Mwahahaha!

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**Chapter 6: If Wishes Were Horses**

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Jun stood in the hospital room door, trying her best to will herself to approach the dark haired man sitting at her brother's bedside, but somehow, even just the lines of his back terrified her, made her want to run.

In the end she settled for a quick knock on the door frame, unable to stop the sigh of relief when the eyes that turned her way were the usual soft violet of the Ken she had known for years and loved like a brother.

"Hey," she questioned softly, "How's he doing?"

Ken turned back to Daisuke, "Better," Ken informed her even as he resumed his gentle squeezing of Daisuke's hand.

"I can feel him in there," Ken smiled, "It's almost as if he's always just about to wake up."

Jun sighed, weaving her way around to the other side of her brother's bed, careful to avoid upsetting any of the equipment responsible for keeping her brother alive.

Or at least, mostly alive.

"I spoke with his doctor." She had not meant for it to sound like an accusation, but somehow it still did. Jun tried to make up for her tone by offering Ken a small smile even as she reached up to pet the patch of dark red fuzz that was starting to grow back along the edge of Daisuke's bandaged head.

Ken sighed, "I know what he thinks," he told Jun, "but he's wrong. Daisuke's getting better." They had had this conversation every day for the last week.

"Ken…" she began carefully, trying yet again, "We have to start thinking about—"

"Jun! Enough!" She flinched at his tone. That harsher side of Ken that had always seemed to amuse her brother had only ever troubled Jun. It left her wondering who the real Ken actually was.

And without Daisuke here, Ken seemed like he was becoming less and less like his usual self, the Ken she knew, the Ken she trusted, and more like this severe, almost cruel person she did not know or trust with every single day that passed.

It was strange how her loud mouthed, high energy little brother had always had such a mellowing affect on the other man, but he had. Somehow, Daisuke had always been the one that kept Ken centered. Jun found herself wondering how much longer Ken could go without her brother and still be the person everyone knew as "Ken."

"Sorry." It was muttered and barely audible and in all honesty, Jun wasn't even sure if it was meant for her or for her brother, but, regardless, she offered Ken a small smile of forgiveness. She pulled a chair close and sat down, taking her brother's free hand in her own. It was limp and unresponsive. For the longest time, the only sound in the room was quiet beeping of the machine that kept Daisuke breathing.

After what she hoped was sufficient time for Ken to be back to his usual mellow self, Jun offered, "I'll stay for a while. You know, if you want to go home, get a shower, maybe get something to eat," she smiled, "You must be tired of hospital food." But Ken only shook his head.

"I promise I won't take any pictures of him in any compromising positions, start any internet rumors while you're gone," she promised, happy when that at least got the tiniest of smiles, but again, Ken only shook his head no.

"Can I at least go get you something from the cafeteria?" Jun tried for a third time. After all, Ken was starting to look even more emaciated than her brother who was at least getting some nutrition through his IV.

"I don't want to eat." At least that was a little more honest that his usual, "I'm not hungry," Jun thought with a sigh.

Jun didn't know how much more of this she could take. She didn't know how much more Ken could take. The doctor had been clear. The operation had succeeded in that the swelling in Daisuke's brain had decreased. Unfortunately that had allowed them to better judge the damage that had already been done and that news wasn't good.

Daisuke was gone. While his brain had not totally ceased functioning, it was beyond repair. Daisuke, at least the Daisuke she had always known, has passed a week ago, probably not long after the blood vessel in his brain burst and blood began compressing and destroying the delicate enclosed tissue.

Technically, Daisuke was still alive, but truly… The energy, the emotion, the humor that was Daisuke was already gone.

But even that particular distinction would most likely be a moot point soon, despite what Ken insisted. Daisuke was no longer breathing on his own. The doctor said they had had to start supplementing his blood pressure with continuous medication, and this morning, his kidneys had begun shutting down.

Her baby brother was dying.

No. Her baby brother was already dead.

But now his body was failing, too.

Jun glanced over at Ken, doing her best to blink back the tears that threatened to overcome her and watched as he continued to squeeze Daisuke's hand, to whisper words she couldn't hear, and didn't really want to hear because she knew that they weren't meant for her. Ken must have felt her eyes on him because he looked over at her and offered her an encouraging smile.

"Squeeze his hand," Ken urged her, "Squeeze his hand and he'll squeeze yours back."

Jun did as she'd been asked. But there was no movement. Not even a flicker under his eyelids that might suggest dreaming. Despite what Ken seemed to desperately want to believe, the truth was all too painfully obvious.

Daisuke was already gone.

And he would never return.

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